


Ground Game

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Fighting, Kickboxing, M/M, MMA alternate universe, Pining, Sweat, self indulgent im SoRRY
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 15:25:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7177295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stress of the city, of interning, of social work gets to John Laurens. He retreats back into organized fighting in attempts to channel some of the stress into hitting things (and getting hit back).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ground Game

It was hot in New York, wet spring plotting the course for a soggy couple of weeks before summer. John had only had time to remove his suit jacket, not fully change into his activewear before bolting out of the air conditioned office building. 

His internship was beginning to look like it wasn't worth it, social work was only ever redeeming if you got high enough up the ladder to be handling human beings instead of paperwork. He understood, really, he got it. At the very least it was paid and they had a long history of hiring the college students that had interned earlier- problem being that John was not in fact a college student. He had graduated two years prior, floundered around to look for some kind of employment before he had to leave campus. Loans weren't an issue, his dad had arranged to pay for his college since the idea of a son entered his mind twenty-four years ago. 

He also wasn't allowed to touch his inheritance until he secured employment, his father's excuse had been that he didn't want John to sign a mortgage on a house that he couldn't actually afford, worried John would blow it all at once and end up broke and jobless. Realistically it would never happen- John was too passionate and the Laurens family had too much money. 

Dad had said something about discipline, about responsibility that set John off that morning on the phone. 

_"I need to be absolutely sure you're an adult before I hand you this money, Jack. You're hotheaded. Impulsive. Show me you've got self-discipline and we'll talk."_

Fuck his discipline. John had stayed in college for all four years, had nearly perfect attendance and made great grades, was commended on his thesis, was recommended to many employers. 

Sweat beaded at the back of his neck, dripped uncomfortably down his white shirt. The polypropylene strap of his workout bag cut uncomfortably into his shoulder, train packed too tight for him to shoulder it off onto the ground. 

When the doors slid open he expected a cool breeze, some kind of air to flow through from the tunnels but it seemed to stagnate. He wiped his bare arm, sleeves rolled up, across his forehead as he wove through the crowd of people, all in a similar state of agitation.

He didn't stop walking as he checked his phone for directions for the gym he had signed up for. It was a short walk, tucked around a corner adjacent to the tailor that his boss had mentioned, on a street cast almost entirely in shadow. There was an approximate ten degree temperature drop as soon as he rounded the corner, sunlight no longer beating on the sun-bleached asphalt. 

Location-wise, this place was ridiculously far from his home and a decent distance away from his job, too. And by the looks of it, it was invisible. He almost missed the place, dark logo nearly blending into the shadow-cast wall. It was actually tucked underneath what looked to be a row of apartments, sign pointing to a cement stairwell. 

He paused before pulling the door open, read the vinyl stickers on the windows with their operating hours, their inspection sticker, security system. To the left of the door was a sheet of paper, taped from the inside, about the upcoming tournament and how to register. A subtle buzz prickled into him, itching not to imagine himself in the cage, music blaring, audience cheering. So he let himself in, reveled in the further temperature drop. Inside it smelled like disinfectant, mat foam, the vinyl scent that his own new gloves smelled like, and sweat. The first room was a small lobby, three chairs sat against the wall next to the front desk, all of which facing an interior window that showed one of the mats. The woman, thin and lithely muscled, hung up her phone call and directed her attention toward John.

"Hello! Are you new or do you have an appointment?"

"Uh, hi, I'm John Laurens, I think we spoke on the phone?" Her face cracked into a polite smile, dark skin settling into two deep set dimples framing her mouth.

"Ah! You're here for your first class! You've got about twenty minutes, I'd say change first and then come back here so we can do some paperwork and I can help you wrap your hands if you need." He shook his head, told her he had it covered and cam back from the bathroom in a tank-top and a pair of Thai shorts. They got him a compliment from-

"I'm Angelica! It's great to have you here."

She talked about Muay Thai, her first class and her nerves, her current training, as John filled out his contact information and signed a waiver. Angelica walked him to the mat, told him to wear slip-on shoes the next time because it was easier, and showed him how to pay respects before stepping out onto the class space. 

Once on, he spaced out, focused on stretching his hips, his hamstrings, his calves, his obliques. Others mingled, talked about work, threw what seemed to be range-finding jabs with almost no force behind them. Nobody looked fight-ready or work-weary, they all just looked excited. It was unexpected, it only made John retreat further to the edge of the mat. 

They all seemed to migrate to the front of the mat as the clock struck seven, lining up without being told. John lined last, ranking lower than his classmates. Some students waved, smiled at him. He tried to smile back, nod in acknowledgement before the class hushed.

A man, average height with a thick build and chestnut skin faced the class, followed by Angelica, trading her jeans for an outfit similar to John's. 

"Good evening, guys." The class responded quicker than John could know to respond.

"Alright, respects in, grab a jumprope and spread out." He said something that John didn't catch in another language and the class repeated it, bowing in and splitting to grab their ropes. He did the same and got to work at the sound of the timer. 

The class itself went by in a blur, they'd been mid-way into a unit leaving John to desperately cling on to whatever details he could. When they split to gear up and grab a partner, he was snagged by someone with a few inches on him and a wide smile that spread all the way through his face, sweat already collecting at his brow. 

"Name's Mulligan. Partners?" John nodded, undoing the velcro on his sparring gloves and shoving them on over his wrapped hands.

"I'm John."

The majority of the class was spent on foot jabs and footwork, proving to be a cardio heavy class. He cursed himself for skipping lunch, fatigue scorching his calves as he tried in vain to keep his heels up. 

"Heels up, heels up! Get on your toes before the class breaks for pushups," Angelica shouted over the music that played, announcement feeling like it was focused on John until he was absolutely sure to keep his heels a healthy inch off of the ground as Hercules seemed to dance effortlessly around him. 

When the timer chimed and the class breathed a sigh of collective relief John was disoriented. It hadn't seemed like an hour had passed. Everyone shucked off their gear and returned to their places on the red vinyl mat, a near mirror image of an hour before aside from the rise and fall of everyone's shoulders, the humidity that fogged the window and the sweat that dripped onto the mat. Head coach spoke.

"Good work, class, it's always good to get back to the basics," -those were basics? 

"We have a new student!" Angelica supplied when head coach looked at her. John's stomach tightened, workout exhausting most of the angry knot in his chest. He broke his steepled hands to give a curt wave, softening his face a bit in attempts to match their friendliness. 

"This is John Laurens, make sure you guys are offering _any_ new students help if they need it."

After that they bowed out, made a line to allow everyone to bump forearms and pay their final respects. Almost everyone had offered a "good work" or "welcome" or "nice to meet you" leaving John to mumble his thanks over and over. As he moved to get off the mat he was stopped by his partner from earlier. 

"John! How'd you like your first class?" As John was about to respond, Mulligan was flanked by someone he'd seen on the mat with him, yanking his hair out of its knot and shaking it free with an exasperated sigh.

" _Mon dieu, il fait chaud_ \- oh! You're the new one!" his voice was heavily accented, thrown a bit by his still heavy breathing. 

"Gil, this is Laurens, right?" John nodded affirmatively. 

"We usually go by last name, the Baron drills us that way come test time. He's ex-combat, likes to stick to his ways."

"How come you do not use _my_ family name! Laurens, I will spare you the entirety of mine- you need only call _'Lafayette!'_ and I will be there." It was a strange introduction, the room was more eccentric than he had hoped, had anticipated when he made the appointment.

"Also, don't listen to Angie- call her Schuyler. But only in here. Anywhere else it'll get confusing, she's got a big family."

He fished the small towel out of his duffel bag, wiped away the sweat at the back of his neck and downed half of his bottle of water that he brought. Back up front, he checked back in with Angelica. 

"You ready?" John only raised his brows in confusion.

"Von Steuben handles contracts. He's in his office, let's go."

The office was fairly small, tucked into the back past a row of lockers-not enough for everybody on the mat. There was virtually no free wall space, plaques, certificates, swords and title belts took up most of the room. The Baron looked up from his iPad and smiled widely at John. 

"Mister Laurens! Great work for your first class, do you have experience?" 

"I wrestled in high school and trained Brazilian Jiu Jitsu for a bit in college."

"Why not take our BJJ class instead? Why Muay Thai?" John chewed a bit on his answer, not sure if he wanted to tell the truth. Half truth works.

"I've always wanted to do it."

"You sure you're not just here to hit stuff? That's usually why guys come in in this city." John laughed, sheepishly cupped the back of his neck. He was getting close to the truth, might as well stop him there.

"Alright, I'll tell you a story." Angelica moved to leave the room, waved quietly before presumably returning to her place at the front desk. 

"I moved here from Philly. Worked in a gym called the Valley Forge, ran it with a guy named Washington. The place was a miracle and a mess. He'd started the gym himself after his wife left, had a bunch of guys training who just wanted to scrap each other, just wanted to fight." 

The Baron leaned forward, knitted his hands together over the desk before continuing. 

"We had about fifty students, just trained MMA, no specific classes. They only ever wanted to strike, they hated groundwork. Loved takedowns, loved sweeps, hated rolling. Washington wasn't having it. He took those people, set them straight. He led by example, offered to teach after hours, dedicated a ridiculous amount of time to these students without pay. And it worked. Do you know how it worked?"

John was fully captivated.

"No, sir, how?"

"Washington, they call him the General, knew how to whip people into shape. He knew what made them try, knew what made them want to work. But the biggest thing he had was a metaphor. _'Save the war for the battlefield. You're here to train, not fight.'_ He didn't let people show up angry. He'd turn 'em away. If anyone tried to start something he'd kick 'em out. Are you here to fight?" He felt like 'yes' was the wrong answer. _Fuck it._

"Yes, sir."

"Then we'll toss you into fight camp. The only payment is that you gotta show up to regular class twice a week and do what you need to."

"Fight camp?" 

"Washigton's original curriculum. Taught by a guy named Alex when the big guy's busy."

He signed a six-month contract for standard classes and was told that he could only start fight camp after eight classes. Four weeks. Not the longest wait in the world.

Between classes, the stuffy heat of the streets rubbed at his nerves, added a sharper edge to his baseline agitation. But classes were a welcome relief. He came to learn that Mulligan had abandoned Lafayette as his usual partner, and he was typically tossed between the two like some kind of toy. 

"Are you guys gonna share Laurens or am I gonna have to bust up your little love triangle?" Angelica prodded one class, claiming him as a partner until they broke that day. He should've anticipated her strength, should've expected her to be quick. It was the first class where they got to spar and she handed his ass to him. 

"Hands up." She swung a hook to his jaw, showing him the err of his ways as she corrected him.

"On your toes." She landed a kick to his leg, something he could've easily dodged if he'd been paying attention to his footwork. 

It left him uncomfortably self conscious, all of his confidence knocked out of him with each blow she landed despite their low impact. Physically he was unscathed, a bit out of breath but not in pain. But his pride was a bit knocked. He thought he was better. Which is why he was confused when Angelica pulled him aside after bowing out.

"Alex is gonna _love_ you."

"What?"

"Laurens. I was almost evenly matched right there. And you're new. You're tough, you seem to know what you're doing. Anything you screwed up can be drilled out, tightened up in your training. Your only problem is control."

"What?" Embarrassment rose in his lungs, into his face. Angelica sounded a million miles away when next she spoke. 

"You gotta split your force and your technique. Sparring is supposed to be low intensity, unless you're in fight camp. Which is exciting because I partnered with you today as a test."

"A test? Alright, did I pass?" She laughed at his forwardness. 

"You did! Hang after class a bit, help the boys clean up, Alex is actually due back here in about half an hour. He's gotta organize his stuff, he just got back from a conference."

"Wait so I'm just meeting him, right? I'm not training with him tonight, am I?"

"It's up to him. Don't sweat it, though, he's a great guy."

The class had pretty much emptied out, building vacant save for the coaches, Mulligan, Lafayette and himself. He flinched when a mop was hurtled into his chest, barely catching it before it clattered to the mat.

" _Faites-attention!_ Let's get this done."

"Right... Can- can you tell me about Alex?"

Mulligan hoisted the spray-bucket of disinfectant into his arms and started in the back corner, beckoning John to meet him with the mop. Lafayette had been sweeping the mat ahead of them, spoke to them from nearly the opposite corner of the room.

"Mr. Alexander Hamilton! Amateur featherweight title holder fighting in the red corner for Trinity Gym MMA. He's an animal, good on his feet, better on the ground."

"And he's the fight coach?"

"Yup," Mulligan cut into Lafayette's cheesy announcement. "And we're grabbing drinks after he wraps up here. You should come with."

It was a Saturday night, he had nothing better to do, and he really doubted these guys were the kind to get absolutely smashed. 

"We'll see."

At that, the bells on the front door jingled. Either Angelica left or someone entered, it proved to be the latter when both Lafayette and Mulligan dropped their tools and bound across the mat. 

 _"ALEX!"_ The two hollered, cheering as if he was stepping into the cage instead of his gym. He was mostly obscured by the two, Mulligan had him wrapped into a bear hug and- okay, his feet weren't touching the ground. And then all of him was on the ground, curling into himself to reduce the impact of Mulligan casually throwing him onto the mat. 

" _Hercules!!_ Do not throw a man you haven't seen in over a month!!" Lafayette protested through his glee, crouching to be closer to the man on the ground.

"Shit, Mulligan, missed you too."

John shifted a bit uncomfortably, not moving from his position but leaning on his mop instead. Without getting up, Alex craned his neck, looked at him upside down. 

"Who's this?" 

All at once John felt choked, he stuttered a weak "hey" as he took in exactly who had made such a welcome entrance. 

"Alexandre, meet John Laurens. He joined our class about a month ago- the exact day after you left. He has wrestling experience, wants to _fight._ "

"Is he in fight camp?" It was a small relief to have Alex break eye contact with him, rolling into a sit to face Lafayette. 

" _Alexandre_ , you know we don't put people in your class until you get the chance to meet them." From behind, John saw his shoulders shake with the laugh, wished he could see the smile. Alex had been in a plain black tee and a pair of faded denim jeans, loose black hair falling just past his shoulders, a wave hitting where he might've had it tied back. Wiry muscles just barely strained at the cotton of his clothes, shoulders narrow if not for his tone. He didn't look built for fighting, he seemed small, narrow. But those were usually the guys who outsmarted their opponents, caught them where they didn't expect it. He motioned to stand, still faced away while he exchanged some words with Mulligan. 

"Ang holdin the fort down?"

"She sure is. 'Liza should be back soon, apparently her flight is scheduled for next week." Alex fell into a dramatic swoon, Lafayette catching him in a hilarious mockery of a trust fall.

"Eliza, my love, I await you with a singing soul and a tender embrace," he breathed melodramatically. Something tore at John at that, stomach tightening at the idea of Alex being with someone. He stopped himself from visibly shaking it off, cursed himself for being childish. Lafayette shoved him off, back into a stand, as he motioned to leave the mat.

"Help me grab my stuff, I come bearing gifts."

John followed, grabbing the mop and the broom, secured them before meeting them out front. There were three huge clear plastic bags, one per person, filled with what looked like all kinds of new equipment. 

"Washington wouldn't let me leave without this shit, insisted. Fuckin' Congress salary," Alex laughed politely making his way past John and back into the back with the lockers. Except instead of opening a locker, he made his way towards a door-opening, covered with a black curtain instead of a door. 

"So, John, you get to see the super-exclusive Trinity gear closet. And you get to hand me everything in those bags as Herc and Lafayette _finish cleaning the mat_." The two laughed as they retreated, leaving Alex and John alone in the dimly lit store room. John's heart tightened a bit as Alex dug his blunt fingernails into the plastic bag, tearing it open with a joking roar. 

"You know your way around Thai gear, right?"

"Kinda."

"Okay, what's this?" Alex unwrapped a red and black pad, about the size of a baseball glove with a glove stitched into the back.

"Focus mitt." Alex nodded, stacked it on top of the mitts they already had. 

For the remainder of the first bag Alex quizzed him on his training history, unwrapping six sets of focus mitts and a few Thai pads. 

"You wrestled? What weight class?"

"One-twenty."

"For your height? God, what are you now?"

"One forty-five." Alex nodded, eyeing up his arms, exposed by the tank top. 

"Alright, we'll leave the rest for later, I'm starving. You wanna come with us to eat?"

"Mulligan invited me so-"

"You should."

"Yes." Alex's dark eyes sparkled intensely onto his own, challenging. John didn't back down, but he couldn't help the flush that threatened to leak into his face.

"Alright, go change. I'll wrap up and meet you out front." 

In the bathroom, John fussed over his hair, tried tucking it neatly into a bun before he changed. Yanking his shirt off over his head ruined his work, he re-did the updo after he pulled a green button-up on. He left the bathroom clad in khakis, left the top three buttons of his shirt undone. Alex smiled when he met back up with them, the other two had changed as well. 

Alex blew a kiss at Angelica as he shoved the door open with his hip, John tightened again. 

"Laurens!" Alex shouted without turning around, heat already clinging to every inch of exposed skin. "Where do you live?" He turned to the right, leaned on the first car parked there. John told him where he lived and furrowed his brows as Alex's mouth popped open a bit in shock. 

"Lord, okay, put your shit in my car and call me Uber." John laughed.

"You're not gonna drink?"

"Nah, I'm only a month out from my next event, gotta watch what I shove in me." The way his eyelids dropped just the slightest bit was just suggestive enough for John to notice. And apparently for Lafayette to notice, too. 

"Alex, give the man at least a _day_." So this was a common thing. Alex was a flirt.

They walked a block to a little sports bar, dark wood details and exposed piping. 

They sat in a booth, black leather sticking to the back of John's arms as he slid in to sit across from Alex. Mulligan ordered a pitcher of Sam Adams for the table, Alex confidently ordered a water with lemon. When John laughed, he got kicked in the shin. 

The first beer hardly took the edge off of him for being so close to Alex, this guy he _just_ met, this guy who could probably kick his ass before he knew what was happening, who he was already stumbling a bit over. He tried not to stare, tried to look past him and at the TV until he got noticed dodging. 

"Looks like someone likes golf." Mulligan mumbled throatily into his glass, Lafayette and Alex laughing as John nervously fiddled with his silverware. He stopped counting the beers after three, Hercules didn't stop refilling his glass. John knew he got mouthy when he got drunk, refused to admit he was wasted, usually picked fights. But something about being pinned in a booth with three men that could kill him, kept a fun conversation going, were actually decent time, kept him calm. So instead he blabbed about his job, complained about his shitty boss, about his shitty dad. Alex smiled, nodded alertly with his soberness, picked at his salad while John talked through a french fry, turning the entire tables attention to him.

"Fuckin' keeping my inheritance, tellin' me I need _discipline,_ tellin' me my 'gay bullshit' is childish. He doesn't want to give me my money until I get a _wife_."

Lafayette and Alex seemed to exchange a look before high-fiving over Mulligan's plate. 

"Wait why're you- aw fuck did I tell y'all I was gay, hah- oops. Well," Alex held out a fist, winked as their knuckles collided sharply. 

"One of us, one of us, _one of us_ ," Lafayette began to chant, cut off by a kick from Mulligan under the table who laughed directly into the pitcher, giving up on his cup. 

"S'wait, are you guys all-" 

"Nope, not me," Mulligan put his hands up, stopping him before he said it. 

"We're bi," Alex said, fork digging just barely into his bottom lip, teasing.

" _Ce n'est pas vrai_ ," Lafayette protested, tight curls bouncing as he whipped to look at John, voice registering as deep as he could get, "I'm just gay as _hell,_ " he broke the voice with a laugh.

"Is he fuckin' with me?" John asked Alex, who put his fork down while he wasn't paying attention. 

"Nah, he's gay, go in bro."

"No, wait I didn't mean-" Lafayette slapped him on the shoulder, leaned out of the booth with a laugh that showed his gums, squinted his eyes shut. 

"Fret not, Monsieur Laurens, my heart beats only for France. And Hercules."

"Not gonna do it, Gil." Lafayette couldn't break his fit of laughter in time to feign heartbreak. 

John felt woozy, full and still fatigued from class earlier. He had come in at Herc's recommendation, took the extra weekend class. It was a bit tougher, a bit more intense than the weekday classes, and while it was nothing he couldn't handle it was certainly enough to tire him out. Alex had been talking to the other two about the conference he went to in Virginia and John allowed himself to stare. His nose hooked softly, the most prominent feature on his face, and his forehead sloped into a high hairline, black eyebrows resting straight-set and low. His lashes were short but dark, framing his dark eyes handsomely as they crinkled into a laugh. He kept his facial hair fairly short, a scruffy five-o-clock shadow framing his lips- pink, slightly chapped, he must chew on them when he's not paying attention. John made note to pay attention later. He got caught again, mouth hidden by his steepled hands, and Alex's eyes seemed to dart away nervously as he called for the server. Lafayette elbowed him knowingly, waggled his eyebrows in a way that seemed inhumanly possible. 

" _Mon frère_ , don't sign up for something you cannot handle." They slid out of the booth after paying, each of them forking out a few dollars for the tip. John was the last out, Alex casting a look down at him. He froze, burning warm with the buzz and the way that all night Alex's eyes seemed to be melting holes into him. 

"Let's go big guy," he said, smile just barely curling the edges of his lips. John pretended to ignore the hand that was extended towards him, took a second to make sure his legs were working right and followed Alex back to his car. 

"God, _jeez_ , Laurens, you're a lightweight. You gonna make it to the car alright?" He hadn't even noticed the two others had split, leaving them alone in the city-lit breeze. He hummed affirmatively, tried to quicken his gait to prove it. And then Alex tucked himself under his arm, hooked his own behind John's back. He wasn't actually that drunk, but who was he to stop his new coach from giving him a hand? 

Apparently he had fallen asleep in the car, because when he woke up, he was in a very unfamiliar home on someone else's couch. He hardly took in his environment, vision blearing the blue light of the television opposite him. Sleep almost overtook him until he head Alex, foggy through his sleep.

_"Shame he's drunk."_

The next morning was embarrassing, head pounding hangover with little fuzzy memories from the night before. After Alex had stirred him, he offered coffee, busying his way around his apartment faster than John's eyes could keep up.

"Hey, uh, sorry to rush I just have a lot to do today, are you ready to go?" John nodded, scrunching his face in pain.

"Sorry I- sorry I'm here man." Alex laughed, grabbing his keys off the counter. He was already dressed and showered, laptop bag slung over his shoulder.

"Don't mention it. Be ready to deal with me on Tuesday, though." John's masked his enthusiasm, rubbed his eyes.

The ride was mostly silent, John covering his eyes to try and block out the sun, Alex tapping gently along to the music he had playing. He didn't realize he was home until a hand, small but strong, gripped at his shoulder. 

"You need help with your bag?" John's stomach tightened, half with nausea, half with nerves. He shook his head, mumbled his thanks and made his way back up to his apartment.

* * *

 

The next time he saw Alex was Tuesday night, like expected. He sat off the mat, watched the class closely, took notes. As much as he tried, John couldn't entirely tune out his presence.

"Laurens, eyes on me, c'mon," Mulligan snapped him back in the game, held his pad-clad arms for the combo they were working on. He shook his nerves, honed his energy into the task at hand, figured he might as well try to impress Alex. After class he stood straighter, sloughed any tiredness out of his posture, sucked down his bottle of water and secured his gear. Alex had disappeared, John occupied himself with watching Lafayette go at Mulligan with the combo from class, tweaking the details of the downward hook that he hadn't quite nailed earlier.

_Smack._

"Wait."

_Smack._

"Wait." He shook his arms, shadowed the technique before going in again. The next punch he threw completely missed, he rode the motion forward until he doubled over, howling with laughter. 

"Laurens." It was Alex. Cold embarrassment settled on his shoulders as he turned around to face the man, shorter than he remembered. He was wearing a tank top, revealing the collarbone John was left to guess at the time prior, the surprisingly strong build of his chest.

"Yes, sir." He said, unsure of what to call him and defaulting into the role of student. The lack of response signaled him correct. 

"Clear the mat, guys. Fight camp starts in thirty, go rest." John froze under Alex's gaze- it made him feel small despite the inches he had on him. As the room cleared, Alex rolled his shoulders, assumed a kick stance. 

"Show me what you're made of."

John fell into stance himself, kept his guard tight, curled in to hollow out his stomach, giving himself a few extra inches in case Alex tried to foot jab his stomach. Once on his toes, he threw a jab- weak, range finding. It was parried-not dodged.

He threw a cross. It was deflected the same way his first punch was. 

John tried to use the advantage of his height, attempted a foot jab but was caught. Alex held John's heel at an angle that made him hop to keep his balance, held him hostage before throwing it to the side, giving him John's back. John's heart sank, mind quick enough to know he fucked up but not enough to react. The sweep didn't surprise him, but it winded him. The best he could do was land correctly, maneuver out of the way. John looked at Alex, standing above him, feet in range of John's own bent legs. He wasn't sure if he was _allowed_ to get Alex on the ground or not.

"Ground okay?" Alex laughed, grabbed one of John's legs before sitting between them, twisting his torso into an uncomfortable position. John was good on the ground. Good enough to use his single leg to pin Alex upside down, bent so that his knees nearly touched the ground next to his face, John sprawled over his thighs. 

Alex slipped himself to the side, risky but effective, pinned John with his stomach pressed into the mat. 

"Ground's fine for me."

The rest of the roll wasn't evenly matched, Alex mostly testing different positions to see if John could wiggle his way out, use the position to his advantage. At some point he got caught in an arm bar, Alex's heart beating through his chest against John's bicep. He felt dizzy, outmatched, in a position of submission, willing to submit from the beginning. 

The truth he didn't want Von Steuben knowing wasn't that he liked to hit, didn't like to control. It was the opposite. He craved the sensation of being trapped, being at the mercy of someone stronger than him. He didn't give it up easily, made them fight for it, but drank in the rare occurrence that someone could pin him, hold him down. 

Alex tightened, John's arm stretching painfully, joint fully extending and then some. He let out a pent out breath, half in defeat, half in thickly masked excitement as he tapped his other arm onto the mat. Immediately he was released, Alex rolling away from John as he shook out his arm.

When John looked up, steadied his breathing until he looked up at Alex.

His smile was dazzling, hair knocked askew, frizzing around his face where he'd been touched by anything. 

"Round two! Encore!" Lafayette shouted from the side of the mat, clapping along with Hercules and Angelica. Alex shot them a look, scold completely failing to register over his smile, but they shut up anyways. 

Back on their feet, John immediately knew how hard he could push, knew what to give Alex and what he'd get in return. 

Immediately he had the advantage, throwing elbows that mostly made contact with Alex's guard, but caught him with a close-ranged hook over his ear, unexpected. The impact knocked him a bit to the side, gave John the perfect opening to hook his left hand behind his neck and follow with the right, securing him in a clinch. He got in a knee before Alex slipped out, elbowed him in the face just enough to make contact- not enough to cut. John managed to step between Alex's legs hooking a heel behind his calf and knocking him over.

They were face to face. John didn't make a habit out of making eye contact during sparring, it was too high up to see your partner's legs, it was a bad move in close range. But he did, and he regretted it, the fiery excitement that flashed through them pricked at his skin, settled in the pit of his stomach right before Alex planted a foot there, kicked John off. 

He got pinned in a triangle hold, tapped out again. But this time he laughed.

"Okay Laurens," Alex breathed out, wiping sweat from his brow from his seated position on the mat, "looks like we have work to do." 

Fight camp wasn't as intense as his spar with Alex, but it certainly knocked him around a little. John remembered what the Baron had said about saving your anger for fights, kept himself in a scholarly frame of mind, treated the experience as though it was a classroom and he wasn't getting his ass handed to him. Miraculously, John's brain let him compartmentalize, coach Alex being completely separate from on-top-of-him Alex, completely separate from the Alex that supposedly carried him upstairs and tucked him into the couch Alex. Here, from a distance, Alex's voice was a near-constant buzz, hard to entirely focus on because of the amount of words he said. It was more supplemental, John focusing on his task and letting some of Alex's words in when he needed them. At least he always had some idea of what to do.

The second class of the night wrapped up, shorter than the first, less formal than the first.

* * *

 

Three weeks remained until Alex's fight, calm preparation blanketing his demeanor, the unavoidable tension that probably settled into his bones, deeper than anyone could see. John was careful, quiet around him, looking more to learn than to presume. 

He picked up on a few things: for one, Alex had almost completely honed his focus on John until the week before his fight, trusting his other partners to keep him safer and keep him sharper. John didn't mind, used the opportunity to watch. Under the guise of a student, watching the way Alex seemed to strong-arm his way out of tight situations, see the sweat-slicked slide of his olive skin against whoever he was with at the time was completely normal. John was careful to keep distance, tried to keep his gaze scholarly, tried to catalogue the way he moved in order to benefit his own training and was about half successful. And while he kept himself in line in the gym, nothing was off limits in his apartment. 

He also noticed the way the fight seemed to be the only thing he was focused on. Noticed the way everyone seemed to listen to him with more intent, the fact that he was competing in the first place lent him a legitimacy that was hard to replicate. Not everyone was there to fight, but they acknowledged the drive it took, realized that genuine combat was the purpose of the sport. 

Two days out from the fight, Alex approached him.

"Do you wanna walk out with me?"

"What?"

"Like before my fight. You just kinda stay by me unless I'm in the ring. I can put a water bottle in your hand if you really wanna be useful. Or you could fight Herc for the ice bucket."

John noticed the way that Alex's eyes seemed a bit lighter, dark circles diminished by the sleep he was most likely forcing upon himself. 

"Do you want me there?"

"It would be nice." Gentle. His voice was gentle and John didn't know that he was so close until he focused in on the whisper and the warmth that radiated between the two of them post-workout.

"Sure, yeah, okay. Are you okay?"

"I'm good. It's good to have people with you though." 

They didn't back away from each other, John bending his neck uncomfortably to lock their gaze. It wasn't until Angelica cleared her throat that the two parted.

"Quit fawning and clean the mat, boys." 

Alex filled the silence with his chatter about the fights, about past fights, about the venue. John nodded, supplied questions when he had them to keep Alex going. He just didn't stop talking, John didn't want him to stop talking, loved the way his voice had peaks and valleys, loved the narrative he could weave into anything he talked about, loved the way he stumbled through words instead of pausing to process them. On their way out, John reveled in the strong arm Alex hooked around his back, smiled when he was shaken back and forth, laughed at the slap that followed.

The walk to the station was fast, music blaring in John's headphones as he tried to keep it together, tried to push away the feeling of Alex so close to him. It's not like they hadn't touched, it's not as though Alex hadn't been seated firmly between his thighs, pressed his knees against his chest, not as though he hadn't had his head tucked into Alex's stomach, inches away from his crotch before. He struggled and failed not to imagine the full spread of his stomach, taut with the lithe muscles, the way his compression shorts would hug around his ass, sit low enough on his waist to reveal the dimples on his back. He imagined the fight, over and over, thought of how Alex could throw things in his favor, thought of the way the room would quiet when he struggled and erupt when he landed a hit. He imagined the way Alex would saunter out of the hold-room, jog up the stairs and roll his shoulders back, make himself look bigger for the crowd. John had never been to a fight, could only imagine what they'd be like.

And the second he shouldered the door to his flat open, he tossed his bag aside, locked the door behind him and leant against it, back fully pressed on it. He sunk down a bit, hissed as he slid his hands into his pants, tried to ignore how disgusting and sweaty he still was and pumped his dick a few times, feeling it swell quickly. He imagined how it would feel, Alex shoving him into the wall, pressing the pads of his fingers into the cut of his hips, growling deep into the crook of his neck. His legs shook and he forfeited, sinking down on the door until he was seated, yanked his shorts off of his hips, cool air providing a sharp contrast, raising goosebumps along the inside of his thighs. His eyes hammered closed as he concentrated on the visual, submerged himself into the fantasy without worrying about the repercussions of it, without thinking. Alex's name was on his lips, he chanted it in whispers, then groans, as he toppled into his release, came hot into his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I was intending to post all of this in one big thing but! i'm not 100% sure when i'll be able to finish/post it with my schedule this week and i need validation like. right now.  
> ANYWAYS i think this was inevitable, i train kickboxing and half of my friends are into mma, my coaches all fight, a lot of my friends fight, i love going to fights, etc. etc. It's a weird combo, writing and fighting (omg) but then again i also draw and pick at politics so w/e let me be a freak of nature.   
> washington and the baron ran a gym called the valley forge in philly, this story takes place at trinity mma (named after the trinity church) and washington currently runs his own gym in virginia that obviously had to be called mount vernon. duh.   
> anyways. enjoy. hold out for some good fuckin next chapter


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